


a kind of emptiness

by patos



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patos/pseuds/patos
Summary: "You're the bard here, Jaskier. Be the eloquent one, then.""How about," he pauses, taking a sip of the tea before wincing at the temperature, "'a little comfort?'"
Relationships: Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128





	a kind of emptiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calcelmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcelmo/gifts).



> warnings for: sex, jaskier being a tiny bit of a bitch which is mostly just my personality shining through, and some Love, in... not the worst way but not the best way either :)
> 
> this is for [my angel](http://ao3.org/users/calcelmo), whom i love and who absolutely invented this pairing. a sequel of sorts? a fanfic of his fanfic? (i definitely recommend reading [ritual union](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409326) before reading this) this one is for you <3

It becomes a sort of  _ arrangement _ between them, almost, like this mutual understanding that they're both horribly lovelorn and desperate for an outlet.

After Rinde, it's Pontae - Chireadan doesn't have much of an excuse to travel very far, so it's a strange bout of serendipity that leads to Jaskier bumping into him there, weary after having travelled through the forest to the south. 

"I was sent here to take over for the town healer for a few weeks," Chireadan explains, over a drink. "How is the witcher?"

Jaskier sighs. "As monosyllabic as always, and ever the bane of my heart," he admits, and Chireadan winces in sympathy. "Missing the lady?"

Chireadan shrugs. "It's strange, to be tangled in my own heartstrings when I know she likely hasn't spared me a single thought, but I have other things to focus on," he says, and it already feels like a lie.

"All a part of the natural course of the heart," Jaskier responds, sympathetically, and rests a hand on Chireadan's shoulder, unbearably warm.

"Indeed," he says, and looks up to stare Jaskier straight in the eye. "Listen, I-"

He's cut off by Jaskier leaning forward and kissing him, hand sliding slowly down his arm, and he makes a decision then and there.

After Pontae, it's Prana, then Rinde again; their relationship becomes a map of little encounters dotted across Redania, each time ending the same way. 

* * *

Something ugly takes root in Jaskier's heart, after Geralt tells him in far too many words to kindly fuck off. It's the first and only time, really, that he's admitting he's searching this out - whatever  _ this _ has become. Friends with benefits, he supposes, more or less, though more of the  _ benefits _ than the other part. Perhaps he's just being cruel, but he's not in the mood to be nice today.

It's easy to find him, in all honesty, because Chireadan and Jaskier are opposites in that Jaskier never stays long in one place, whereas Chireadan has moved his station as healer only once as long as Jaskier has known him. He's at White Bridge, now, having set up a spot for himself close to the docks, and it's the kind of idyllic-sounding setting Jaskier might have once scoffed at, in his youthful search for acclaim, but now envies slightly, for its stability.

"Jaskier," Chireadan says, a look of pleased surprise gracing his features. "Come in, my friend."

"Chireadan," Jaskier nods, and surveys the place Chireadan's set up for himself. It's exactly what he would have expected, a sparse front area for attending patients and selling remedies, and a knitted partition in a simple elven weave separating the storefront from his personal quarters.

"Where did you travel from, to be passing through White Bridge?" Chireadan asks, leading Jaskier through to his living space, a moderate-sized room that seemed to double as both a sitting area and his bedroom. "Tea?"

"Caingorn," Jaskier says, and tries not to be pleased at the way his words make Chireadan stop in his tracks. "And tea would be great, thank you."

"That's quite a distance, Jaskier," Chireadan says, cautious. He doesn't look at Jaskier, instead busying himself filling the kettle and selecting a simple fruit blend he thinks he'll like. "Whereabouts are you headed?"

There's a brief, uncomfortable bout of silence before Jaskier responds. "Nowhere in particular," he says, tone faux-bright. "How is life here? I'd almost be tempted to say I enjoy the sea breeze, if the docks didn't smell like day-old fish all the time."

Chireadan laughs, willing to ignore Jaskier's obvious side-step, and shrugs. "It's nice," he says, truthfully. "I thought it might be dull, but it turns out I don't particularly miss being urgently tasked with treating fools who get cursed by djinn and the like," he jokes, pouring a cup of the fragrant brew and sliding it forth.

Jaskier's face twists in playful chagrin. "How cruel of you, Chireadan," he sways, theatrically resting a hand over his heart, the other curled loosely around his cup. "Targeting my insecurities like that. I never would have expected this from you."

"Apologies, friend," Chireadan says, playing along. "Your exploits scarred me, considering the subsequent events. I am a victim of trauma."

"Trauma is a funny word for the great time I showed you that night," Jaskier jabs. 

"You're the bard here, Jaskier. Be the eloquent one, then."

"How about," he pauses, taking a sip of the tea before wincing at the temperature, "'a little comfort?'"

Chireadan looks down at the table, at Jaskier's fingers latticing around his cup, and resists the urge to take his hand. "That sounds apt," he says slowly.

"Apt," Jaskier repeats, and he sets his cup down in favour of standing, leaning over Chireadan, hands resting on his lapels. 

"Jaskier," Chireadan starts, apparently unable to even bear looking him in the eye. He sounds - if Jaskier really had to put a word to it, he'd say he sounds almost desperate.

"Just let me have this," Jaskier says, and he knows he's being selfish, but this time, he can't bring himself to care. He watches with relish as Chireadan's eyes flutter shut, slender fingers wrapping themselves around Jaskier's wrist, and thinks that perhaps he can be content with this, just for today.

Their routine is more familiar than he would have liked. Chireadan, for all his unassuming demeanour, still possesses his ardour, spilling forth naturally as he pins Jaskier down to the bed, hands as manacles linked to the chain of his racing pulse. It makes Jaskier ache a little, somewhere he can't describe, this unique brand of tender passion not afforded to him by whores or drunken one-night stands. 

He doesn't waste time, knowing at this point how impatient Jaskier can get, still holding him down as he kisses down the arch of his neck, easily chasing the heat between them. 

"Ever the careful one," Jaskier remarks, feeling Chireadan press a slick finger to his hole, and Chireadan smiles, impossibly gentle.

"I'm the same I've always been," he murmurs, and Jaskier wants to say  _ yes, I know; that's the problem. _

Chireadan entering him feels like the strike of a match, heat burning, his insides ash, consumed by his want. "Move," he demands, chokes, and Chireadan complies. His thrusts are messy, the same desperation from before bleeding through, and he leans to kiss Jaskier on the mouth this time, fervid and filled with longing.

"Inside," he gasps, when Chireadan's thrusts become more frantic, his teeth sinking into Jaskier's shoulder, Jaskier's hands finding purchase scratching down Chireadan's back as he comes in white streaks onto his torso. Chireadan lets out a stuttered groan as he climaxes, and looks at Jaskier, pressing a light kiss to his lips before pulling out and settling in next to him.

"I missed - this," Jaskier exhales, his eyes closing, breathing heavy.

"This," Chireadan echoes, quiet. "I missed it too."

"You seem happy with your life here," Jaskier whispers, and his eyes settle on the stark plane of the ceiling. "Why not find someone, settle down properly? You're a fine elf, you could do well for yourself."

There's a pause, and Jaskier feels Chireadan shift, turning his face to press into the side of his own. "I love you," Chireadan breathes, hot against the crook of Jaskier's neck, and Jaskier stills. It's the first time he's said it since that night in Rinde, but this time, it's different.

It's a horrible, cruel mistake Jaskier has made, that he's now realising - the realisation that Chireadan will fold for him, as many times as he asks, if he does ask, is too much. And unlike last time, Jaskier can say it back, if he chooses.

"Chireadan-"

"Hush," Chireadan cuts in, and presses a kiss to Jaskier's cheek, lighter than if a rose petal had fallen there. "You needn't say more," he whispers.

"Then I won't," Jaskier whispers back, and the silence of the night envelopes them.

He's never felt overly guilty about leaving someone quietly - his history with men and women alike means that he appreciates the workings of a one-night stand, and waking up next to someone is always harder than falling asleep beside them. 

This, however, is different - Chireadan has always been different, and so the farewell leaves a bitter melancholy within him Jaskier is sure he deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> title from hunger by florence + the machine
> 
> catch me on tumblr, i made a sideblog for dnd + fantasy stuff in general which i'm just starting to use, i'd love to see yall there! i can be found at [summoning](http://summoning.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> thanks for reading, let me know what you think <3


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